


don't say you love me (unless you do)

by schwanenkoenigin



Category: Fifth Harmony (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Fluff, F/F, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-23 22:48:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11999526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schwanenkoenigin/pseuds/schwanenkoenigin
Summary: Camila and Lauren have a past.Once upon a time, they might not have been good for each other. But they are now. Because they've changed.*Alcohol abuse mentioned in chapter 3. Implied rape/self-harm/actual alcohol abuse all in chapter 4. Sexual content in chapter 5.





	1. don't say you love me...

_I love you_.

The beep signaling a new message startles her. Reaching for the phone lying on the other side of the table, Camila sighs. She's sure she knows who it is. Nobody else but _that_ person would know she's still up. It's a quarter after twelve; nobody in their right mind would _ever_ send her a message this late. So, yeah, she doesn't have to look at the screen. She actually contemplates just going to bed and dealing with this in the morning, but it's going to end up making her anxious in a way that prevents her from falling asleep, anyway.

So Camila exhales soundly and grabs her cell. Once she has unlocked it, she proceeds to tap on the newly received message, and when she's finished reading it, she groans. Closes her eyes to think of a reply. Comes up with– nothing. There's not one thing she can think of that will make the person stop. She _knows_ this. So, instead of making up a useless three paragraphs of telling the person how unwanted her nightly words are, she waits.

Inevitably, a call follows. Camila has gathered as much. She grumbles disapprovingly before picking up.

"Camila–" the caller starts right away, "I–"

This time, Camila _does_ give a reply. This has happened so often that she can't keep track, but she's sure this must be at least the hundredth time for them to have a 'conversation' like this. She says, "Lauren, we've been here before. I know how this ends." She closes her eyes in the silence that follows her words. She knows the person at the other end feels guilty. She wants her to. "There were days when you would not call me nor text me. And we were _dating_. You wouldn't ask how my days had been. You didn't care about me, my well-being, or my career. You simply didn't _care_." Camila's voice has grown continually louder. Whenever this happens, it makes her incredibly angry–and, honestly, she has every right to be.

Another few seconds of silence. Then, "That's not true." It sounds timid, small, almost like a question.

Camila laughs. It's bitter, it's incredulous. It cuts through the air like a blunt knife that hasn't been used in a while–or maybe it's been used too often? "You can't be serious."

"I am," Lauren says. She probably wants it to sound like a promise, she probably wants it to convince Camila, she probably wants it to make Camila want her back.

To the girl, however, it's nothing but a distant, senseless blabber, and she rolls her eyes at it. "Lauren, please, stop calling me. I can't do this. I don't want to do this. You made up your mind. You told me you could go on without me. Well,  _I_ can go on without _you_ as well. This might come as a surprise to you, but I do _not_ depend on you. So don't lie to me, saying you miss me. And don't tell me any of those other lies you claim to be true. Don't say you know what it's like to go through hell. Because, _Lauren_ , you _don't_. Don't you _dare_ say you're hurting without the scars to prove it. For the love of _fuck_ , Lauren, stop talking to me, stop texting me, stop calling me. I don't want you in my life. I can't keep wanting to–irrationally, maybe–trust you one second and being left the next. Do me a favor and pick up one of your other toys to play with."

Once upon a time, Camila's words were full of honey, full of sugar when she spoke to Lauren. But right now, there's nothing but desperation. There's nothing left for Camila except the want for this to end. Once and for all. She wants to live a normal life; she wants to live _a_ _life_ again.

She expects her old friend, her old _best_ friend, her old lover, her old girlfriend to listen to her. One more time.

But instead of doing just that, Lauren tries again, insisting, "I love you."

Camila rubs her temples in response. For a minute or so, she doesn't know what to say. She can't keep repeating the same thing every single time, can she? Maybe she should just change her number. Or block Lauren. Words don't seem to get her anywhere. Still, after a while, she says, "This is getting ridiculous." She lets out another laugh. It's even bitterer than the first one. " _Lauren_ , we've been here plenty of times. You'll tell me you love me, you'll tell me you'll change, you'll tell me you'll get _better_. And three days later, I'll find you wasted and high as fuck as you're trying to jump someone's bones." She has waited far too long to say this to Lauren, but she finally does now, "I deserve better."

"Don't say that," Lauren spits back, and it's shaky–like she's about to cry–and Camila knows it's another one of her usual tactics to make her feel guilty. It's not working. It hasn't worked in months. Not on _Camila_.

"Yes, Lauren, I _will_ say it. I'll say it once, and I'll say it again. I," Camila pauses, "deserve better." She emphasizes her words hoping it'll show her ex-girlfriend that, yes, she means them. She means them, and nothing the girl says will change the fact that she's really, honestly started to believe them.

Camila Cabello deserves someone better than Lauren Jauregui. Maybe, at one point, they did deserve each other, but not anymore. Not with the way Lauren behaves. It's inexcusable, and Camila has come to understand that.

"Don't say you love me unless you do."

The words are left hanging in the air.

As Camila waits for Lauren's answer, she silently congratulates herself for her courage, her confidence to finally say everything out loud. Because once upon a time, she would have been intimidated by Lauren to a point where she'd taken her back, too scared to say _anything_ like what she's just said; once upon a time, she would have given a lot just to _be_ with the girl, despite knowing very well that she would not change her questionable lifestyle for her; once upon a time, Camila would have done everything for Lauren. But those times are over.

It takes a few minutes–they're spent with Camila listening to the sound of raindrops falling onto the window pane–until Lauren utters a quiet, "Okay."

It's the end of their relationship.

And Camila can breathe. She isn't sad. No; she's happy she can let go. She will _eventually_ , anyway.

When Lauren hangs up after her final words, Camila sighs. It's not in regret, it's in relief. She's relieved she's got everything behind her; now, she can start a new chapter. One day, she's not going to be hurt anymore. The _healing_ starts now. And she knows that, one far away days, she can be happy again, she can love again; she will be happy, she will love _without_ Lauren.

The prospect of everything that's going to _be_ makes her giddy, and she decides to call a good friend. A friend that's helped her a lot ever since she and Lauren fell apart, and she _needs_ her to know that she's done what she's wanted to do for so long.

It's one o'clock in the night, but she knows Jade will be glad, relieved, too. No matter the time. So she searches for her name, clicks on it. And once the girl has picked up, Camila simply tells her, "I did it."

"I'm proud of you." There's quiet laughter.

Camila's proud of herself, too. So she joins in, and says, "Thank you, babe." It's the end of the conversation already, but it's all that she's needed, and it makes her smile before she gets ready for bed.

For the first time in years, her smile is _genuine_ ; for the first time in years, she falls asleep in peace. Now that she's made that final cut, she knows she's going to be fine.

Yes, she's going to be happy. One day. Soon. And that's all that counts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'd be lying if i said i was sorry. this song is so camren. sue me.
> 
> kudos keep me alive!!


	2. ...unless you do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a second chapter i randomly whipped up because apparently y'all won't accept angst without an actual happy ending lmao (needy!!!!)

Roses. _Yellow_ roses.

They're all that she sees when she enters the restaurant.

It's Wednesday, which means it's her weekly night out, and Camila is surprised – to say the least – when she sees the sheer amount of flowers that have been spread across– that have been spread _all over the place_. They're covering most of the tables. Some of the chairs. Even the bar; at least a dozen roses have been put into wine glasses. Beer glasses. Champagne glasses, too.

Camila doesn't know what to think. Part of her wants to smile at the effort that has been put into _this_ , another part of her wants to flee the scene and never come back. Because this hasn't ever happened before. She's never seen so many bouquets just randomly laying around – not at home, and certainly not in a restaurant she merely visits once a week.

It's weird, seeing the place like this. It's completely empty – except for the flowers, of course. When normally, there are customers everywhere, and staff members are running around, taking orders and serving food. When _normally_ , there are no roses. (Okay, maybe _sometimes_ , like, say, when couples are having a nice dinner together but– not like _this_.)

Camila is sure she has never seen this many roses before.

 _Yellow_ roses. God, she didn't even know these _existed_. Until now. Obviously.

She looks around. Someone has got to be here, right? A waiter, a waitress, _someone_. Someone has got to have placed the ocean of beautiful flowers in here. Maybe they're just hiding?

She tentatively crosses the room in hopes of finding at least a _hint_ as to who's responsible for basically _rearranging_  her go-to restaurant. She bites her lip in anticipation. If she weren't scared by out-of-the-ordinary stuff, she might actually think of this as something  _romantic_ seen as someone has obviously studied her well enough to know that her favorite flowers are roses. That someone obviously _also_ knows that Camila does not only love the appearance of roses but also their _smell_.

It's really intense.

So the buyer has paid attention to this aspect in particular, has made sure that the roses don't just _look_ good, no, that they're _perfect_.

Something catches Camila's eye then. It's something unlike all the roses, something yellow, yes, but–

Camila takes a closer look. And– yes, she was right. It's a sunflower. She starts grinning. Someone _very_  obviously knows that her favorite color is yellow; which– no, she definitely doesn't _only_ love roses, she also loves sunflowers. A _lot_. Because they're _yellow_.

Again, if this weren't a _teeny_  tiny bit scary, Camila would be flattered.

But– okay, maybe she _is_. As much as she hates to admit it, she's enjoying this. She likes the fact that someone knows her this well. She likes the fact that someone has gone this far to–to _what_? Impress her?

Suddenly, the smile leaves her face; she knits her eyebrows instead. While she was taking her surroundings in – or rather, while she was in _awe_ – she did not stop to wonder exactly _why_ anyone would do this for her.

Or to ask herself an even bigger question: _Who_ would do something like this?

The only person that would come to mind is– _no_. No, _that_ can't possibly be. It's been more than five years. It's been _over_ for so much _longer_ than that, and– no. It can't be. It couldn't be _her_.

But Camila hasn't seen anyone in so long that–

 _Could_ it be? Could it really be _her_? After all those years? After so much suffering, after all the pain, after–

Camila takes one of the bouquets off of the nearest chair, and sits down. She's full on frowning now, her posture is– honestly, she seems lost. It's just that– she promised herself she'd never even _think_ about her again. Ever. Ever since– she groans.

The worst thing is that part of her _wants_ it to be _her_. Why else would _she_ have been the first person to jump into Camila's brain? God, why is it that every time something good happens, something– something– well, let's just say something _not as good_ inevitably follows?

Over the past years, there have been moments – every now and then – in which Camila would think back to her time with _her_. Because, admittedly, they had had a good time. In the beginning. It'd used to be all about love; they'd used to adore each other. And then–

Lauren changed. And after it was all over – after Camila had finally managed to set both herself and Lauren free – she kept telling herself that she wouldn't ever want the girl back.

And she still doesn't. Except, right now, part of her thinks, 'What if she _has_ changed? What if it finally happened? What if she finally did what she used to preach?' Five years can do a lot to people, so five years could have potentially done a lot to one Lauren Jauregui, too. Camila can only hope.

If– if it even _was_ Lauren who drowned an entire restaurant in roses (and the occasional sunflower). Camila hasn't exactly _seen_ anyone yet, so it could be another person after all who–

"Hello, Camila," comes a voice from behind her. And– it might have been five years since they last talked, but– it's clearly, undoubtedly, unmistakably _her_.

Camila jumps a little at the two simple words, and it's not just because _someone_ has unexpectedly talked; no, it's mostly because she immediately recognizes– well, _her_. It takes her by surprise. Yes, she did think about _her_ for a moment there but– still, if someone had asked her yesterday if she believed she would ever see Lauren again, hear Lauren's voice again, she would have laughed in their face, telling them they're crazy.

And now she's here. _Lauren_ is _here_.

Camila doesn't turn around. She prepares herself for it, yes; she closes her eyes, inhales sharply, but doesn't. She can't do it just yet – she can't turn around. Too many memories will come back. Too many hurtful ones.

But–

"I was an asshole," she hears Lauren say. It sounds distant– but that's because Camila is intent on keeping her composure, not wanting to give any of what's going on inside her away.

It takes a few moments for her to come up with a reply – she's kind of hoping Lauren keeps talking because, well, it could get interesting – but eventually, she does sarcastically shoot back, "You don't say." She forces a laugh to accompany her words.

"I was an asshole, and I didn't deserve you. You were right."

Camila stops laughing. Starts frowning again. So apparently, Lauren at least knows she'd done wrong. That's– that's a start, right?

As she patiently waits for Lauren to continue, she takes one of the roses on the table in front of her, picks at the petals to distract herself. Sort of.

"I can't say I was surprised when you made the final cut that night," Lauren continues. She sounds sad. Once upon a time, Camila would have sworn it's part of a plan. Once upon a time, Camila would have turned around and left the place without listening to another word of what Lauren had to say. But– something has changed.

It's been five years. _Lauren_ has changed.

(Maybe.)

"But I understood. That's why I didn't call you anymore. Why I didn't try to reach you anymore at all." It's true. Camila had thought Lauren would keep trying and trying and trying, but she hadn't. And it's what made Camila get the closure she needed.

And now…

"I tried to give you what you wanted. What you deserved. Freedom. You didn't deserve to be held back by me. I have to admit, I didn't get that right away, but I can – maybe proudly – say that I did, eventually. And it– it hurt me, in a way, but it also– it didn't. Because I knew I wasn't good for you. I had been, yeah, but that had changed. And I turned into a worse version of myself. Maybe I wasn't _myself_ at all anymore, I don't know. So, no, in the end, it didn't hurt me because I knew you were happy without me. Happi _er_ without me. And, at the end of the day, your happiness was still what I wanted. What I _knew_ I wanted." Lauren sighs deeply.

Camila finally, _finally_ turns around. She wants to see the face of the girl who had left her– the girl who she'd left so long ago. The girl– the girl she had _loved_. And– she thought she was ready, but– she wasn't. Isn't. It _hits_ her. _It_ – meaning _everything_. God, everything comes back at once. The good, the bad. The loving. The being left, the _leaving_. The hurting. The healing.

And, what's worse– the loving, _again_.

"What I'm trying to say is– I get it. I get why you had to do what you had to do. I would have done the same, I guess. Just–" Camila sees Lauren close her eyes, sees her look down at the floor. The girl groans. She used to be so good with words. But– she sounds like she doesn't believe in her own abilities anymore. (The Lauren she last saw five years ago wouldn't have had the modesty to act like she didn't; the Lauren she last saw five years ago wouldn't have admitted in _any_ way that she'd screwed up.) "I– it– again, it actually did take quite a while for me to realize that _I_ 'd made you suffer. That _I_ was the one responsible for putting you through months – _years_ , even – of pain, and of constantly believing you weren't good enough. I was–" Lauren laughs bitterly, rubs the back of her head in embarrassment. "God, I was always high. So of course I couldn't fucking get it. What I'd done. But then– one day, _one day_ it started to dawn on me and–" Tears are forming in her eyes.

Camila thinks she might be dreaming, she thinks that this can't possibly be happening. Lauren standing in front of her, admitting what she'd done wrong, admitting she'd hurt her. Lauren _crying_.

"I wanted to get better. From the very point I'd realized what I'd fucking done to you, I wanted to get better. For you." Lip biting has always been a sign of nervousness for Lauren. So has playing with her hands. Right now, she's doing both, and–

Really– _honestly_ – Camila can't help but find it endearing. Lauren _did_ just apologize in an incredibly genuine way, and she _did_ just tell her how much she regrets everything. And, well, she did do it in the middle of an ocean of Camila's favorite flowers, so– really, how can Camila _not_ find it sweet? And, God, she wants to say so many things. She wants to tell Lauren _so much_ , and at the same time, she wants to know _everything_ that's happened in the past years.

She has _so_ many questions. But all she can come up with is, "Don't say you love me unless you do." It comes out with a sob.

There's not even a second of hesitation before– "I love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this was probably horrific but....yeah. i tried ok 
> 
> kudos mean everything my babes


	3. don't promise me tonight...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise lol
> 
> i had an incredibly shitty night so i proofread this to make the bad thoughts go away

Love.

Camila feels it. Knows that the girl she's lying on top of feels it, too. 

It's been, well, more than five years since they last were this close; since Camila last had her head on Lauren's chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart; since Camila last knew Lauren was nervous because of their proximity. 

But even if it _seems_ the same as the last time they did this – six, maybe seven years ago, that's what Camila remembers – it's utterly different. They're sober, they're on their _own_  sofa, in their _own_ apartment. They actually _want_ to be together, it's not just something they're expected to do as a couple. It's not something that inevitably leads to sex, it's not wanting to satisfy your needs. 

It's different, and they both know deep down that it's never _really_ been like this before. They've never had a connection this strong. Not before they started dating all those years ago. Not _while_ they were dating, either. Something always kept them from truly _being_ , truly _wanting_ to be together.

Something like Lauren's constant alcohol abuse, maybe. Camila stiffens.

"What is it?" As much as the girl was responsible for their breaking apart with her behavior, she always _did_ sense, did _know_ when something bothered Camila. When something was wrong.

Biting her lip, Camila looks up. It's an awkward angle, but she doesn't care. "I–" Could she really go out there and ask the question – questions – that have been on her mind ever since that fateful night at the restaurant?

 _Just like that_?

"You can tell me," Lauren says softly. Her voice is so full of love and admiration. Dedication.

It makes Camila's heart skip a beat. It makes her realize yet again that, yes, Lauren has changed, and she won't get annoyed at her for asking questions about this particular matter. So she swallows and then quietly starts, "Um– did you ever, you know–" She stops. Takes a breath. Continues after a moment, "What I mean is– were there ever situations when you wanted to drink? After you'd stopped. Did you ever– did you drink? Were there situations in which–" She waits for Lauren's reaction. When the girl simply starts playing with her hair, her head sinks back down, reassured. She closes her eyes. Lauren's heartbeat calms her down, somehow. She knows she's going to get an answer, and it's what makes all of this so great: this is still _them_ but, at the same time, it's _not_ , they're different people, and – it's finally becoming everything Camila has wanted. Everything the both of them have wanted. 

"It was hard," Lauren eventually says. Her voice is quiet, just like Camila's. " _Of course_ it was hard. There had been– there were still times when all I could think about was how to get alcohol, how to drink it without anyone noticing, where to stash it so that nobody would find out I was drinking– shit like that."

The cursing makes Camila wince. Lauren notices, and gives the top of her head a kiss.

Says, "Sorry, baby." 

"'s okay," Camila mumbles back.

"It was hard," Lauren repeats, "because simply _wanting_ to stop wasn't enough, I realized. Yeah, sure, I said to myself 'I'm not going to drink, I don't want to drink', but– that didn't help."

Camila freezes. She thought Lauren had stopped drinking– how– had she started again? Anxiety makes its way through her bones, her core, her–

"Don't worry," Lauren says. Of course she's noticed Camila's reaction. "That's not what I'm meaning to say," she promises. "What I wanted to tell you is that– I realized I couldn't do it on my own. I couldn't remain sober on my own. Because I was constantly in pain. Pain that made me want to drink. Made he _have_ to drink. I was desperate. I was thinking about who I could possibly call to get me my booze. All day. All night. I wanted to stop, but I _couldn't_ stop, and it messed me up. I wasn't a person anymore. I was a machine with one single train of thoughts. I hated myself. At least when I was thinking clearly. So, like, once a week. Which is– I couldn't–" A single tear runs down her cheek. And she doesn't try to wipe it away.

It eventually drops down on Camila's face. It's how she notices that Lauren is crying. And, yeah, it's another thing that makes her see how much the older girl  _has_ changed. The Lauren from five years ago would not have cried. Ever. But the Lauren whose heartbeat she feels against her ear right now does cry. Is crying. It makes part of Camila incredibly happy.

The other part is invested in Lauren's story – history – and can't help but be sad.

"At one point, a few days – or weeks, I really don't remember – after your call, I made one of my very few conscious decisions. I went to see a doctor."

And– Camila understands. 

"Rehab was good," Lauren recalls, "it helped me a lot. I mean, yeah, sure, afterwards there were one or two occasions where I had the urge to drink, but I didn't." 

There's pride in her voice.

And Camila realizes that–

 _Pride_ is what made Lauren change. She's _proud_ of herself. For doing the _right_ thing.

"I didn't drink because I remembered how it was at the bottom. And I swore to myself I'd never go back there. Ever. No, I _wouldn't_." Lauren pauses. Thinks for a second. Then, "You know, there were three or four people I kept in touch with after the clinic. A few of them started again when they were back home. It was awful getting the news, but I thought about it for a while, and I think I know why they started again. They hadn't been as bad as I had. And I guess that if you've been at a point where you cannot physically stop drinking _yourself_ anymore, it becomes your goal for life to never hit that exact point again. The others– they hadn't– they hadn't experienced that. The lower you've been, the more you focus on that not happening again." It comes out in a ramble, almost, so Lauren ends with, "Sorry if that was too fast." She lets out a breathless laugh.

"No, that's okay," Camila replies. "After finally having heard everything from you, I can truly say that I'm– I'm incredibly proud of you." She is. She couldn't be _any_ prouder. She can't even begin to imagine the hell Lauren went through, and she's glad– she's _so_ glad she's here now. That _they_ 're here. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

They both sit up, then, and just look into each other's eyes for a long moment. Lauren smiles her most heartwarming smile and gently lays a hand on Camila's cheek. Caresses it. She slowly closes the distance between them.

A kiss follows. It's nothing like any other they've shared before; it's tender, soft. Lauren takes Camila's lower lip between hers to intensify it. Still, it's not hard, or rough. Not all teeth. They even bring their tongues into it at some point, but even then, it doesn't become sexual in the slightest. 

They're just two old lovers, two young lovers, sealing their new relationship with a kiss. A relationship that is by far more promising than the one they'd shared before.

After Camila has broken the kiss, she stands up and takes Lauren's hand to make her follow. Then– she hugs her. It's warm, it's comforting, it's showing Lauren exactly _how_ proud she is. How much she appreciates her opening up. She holds on tight.

Maybe, just maybe this hug means more than the kiss. 

Camila hides– buries her face in Lauren's neck. In her hair. Her soft black curls. She almost too quietly mumbles, "I want you tonight–"

The hug ends after this, and Lauren looks at her with fear in her eyes. She anxiously tells Camila, "Don't promise me tonight without tomorrow too."

"–and I want you always." The younger girl steps closer and gives a visibly relieved Lauren another kiss. 

Into this kiss, she lays everything. Her love, her pain, her loss. Her knowing, her _appreciating_ that Lauren has changed. Her promise to be by her side forever. To support her.

Eventually, of course, the kiss ends. And Camila remembers something she's been meaning to ask. "If you ever get the urge to drink nowadays, what do you do?" 

Lauren smiles. _Laughs_. As if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I think of you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this sucks but ayy maybe you still liked this very much unplanned chapter lol
> 
> ...in which case kudos would be good i guess haha


	4. i say i'm ok (but i can't fake it)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after that last chapter, here's a flashback. i felt like i needed to elaborate on what happened to lauren.
> 
> have a good read!

_A loud rattling noise._

_Several bottles falling off of the table, one of them having been moved by a breeze coming through an open window._

_A loud enough sound to wake someone up and give them a heart attack. Enough to make someone fall out of bed. Enough to make someone get up immediately._

_At least, one would think so._

_Lauren, however, only distantly hears it. It's nothing but a small inconvenience disturbing her desperately needed sleep. She's not bothered enough to open her eyes. She knows it'd hurt. Her head is already spinning, and she isn't exactly keen on the spinning and the pain that comes with it intensifying._

_"Sun'lass," she mutters incoherently. Nobody's there to hear her, anyway. No matter what she says, nobody will_ listen _._

_"Fuh." It's supposed to be some sort of course word, probably. It proceeds Lauren's attempt to open her eyes without being so overwhelmed by pain that she blacks out._

_This has happened before. And not just once. Multiple times. Dozens of times. More times than normal people, people who aren't addicted, could handle. Lauren spending the night getting so wasted she passes out on the couch, in the middle of empty and half empty bottles of whiskey, vodka, and beer. With the occasional bottle of wine playing into the mix._

_Her deep slumber will be interrupted by one or the other bottle falling down on the floor – she doesn't have the time or strength to close the window – and she'll try to wake up, get up like a normal person would. But she won't get to._

_Her body is fighting the toxic substance she consumed a few hours ago, and her body won't tolerate bright environments yet. Lauren's head slumps back onto the back of her black sofa._ __

* * *

_She wakes up again a while later. The need to go to the bathroom has awoken her. It's become too strong to ignore._

_There's just one problem. Lauren doesn't go to the bathroom. Not anymore. She can't physically get herself to._

_But, like any good alcoholic, she's prepared. Obviously. Since she hasn't been out of her living room in– in a_ long _time._

 _She contemplates resting on the couch for a few more minutes, just to gain some more strength, but eventually, she_ has _to get up. She doesn't want her pants to get wet._

 _(They're already dirty_   _enough.)_

_Why she still has pants on, she doesn't know exactly. They're an inconvenience. Like rattling bottles in the middle of the night. Morning. Afternoon. Whatever._

_Lauren manages to get her legs and lower body off of the black leather, at least. Takes her pants off. She doesn't know where she's got the energy for it from, but– she manages. Then, she turns her head as much as she can right now. Luckily finds the object she's looking for right away. She reaches for the admittedly very full bucket to her right and grabs its handle. Pulls it closer to her. Until she can_ use _it. She pulls down her panties somehow, and does her business._

_It all smells disgusting, but Lauren doesn't notice or care._

_(Her neighbors do. But their_ opinion _doesn't bother her. She never leaves this shabby dump, anyway.)_

_When Lauren's finished, she pushes the bucket to the side again, pulls her panties up. The effort it takes leaves her breathless. She sinks down on the couch. Catches sight of her jeans. Thinks for a second._

_Then, when she's gained her breath back, she throws the piece of clothing somewhere. The button clinks with one of the bottles. It's a horrific sound that rings in her ears._

_Rings._

_Ringing._

_Phones. She needs her phone. Where's her phone? Her hands search the entire couch – or at least the parts she can reach if she keeps sitting where she's currently sitting – and finally finds it. She must have been on it last night, and let go of it in her sleep. She opens her contact list, and dials her friend._

_"Ty?" she slurs, "I'eed booze." Her eyes close before there's a reply._

* * *

_This time, three obnoxiously loud knocks on the door wake her up. Before she's awake enough to say, "Go away," however, the person is already turning the key in the lock. A second later, Ty steps in through various discarded bottles._

_Some of them break. It sounds terrible. Lauren cringes. "Watch where you're going." She's surprised at how sober she sounds._

_How sober she_ feels _._

 _Now that she's actually_ thinking _about this, what the hell is Ty_ doing _here?_

_She sits up as much as she physically can without it being too exhausting, and asks the question. "What are you doing in my apartment?"_

_He throws his head back laughing in response._

_Lauren wishes she could stand up to punch him. How dare he?_

_"You asked me to buy you vodka. So I_ bought _vodka." He slams the two bottles on the small table next to the couch._

_Lauren winces at this._

_"Now, about my payment–"_

_Oh, no._

_Lauren expects the worst. Everything that he could potentially ask for, everything she could have potentially agreed to, goes through her head. Every thought worse than the previous one. She closes her eyes. Swallows._

Oh, no _._

_"–I don't have time right now." He shrugs. "You should be grateful I still got you your stuff, though."_

_Lauren still wishes she could knock that smug look off of his face. She thanks the Lord and whoever else is responsible for her for finally being able to catch a break._

_When Ty has left, she's alone again. All by herself. Again. As usual, right about this time, her brain, her body, everything starts telling her, is screaming at her to please get some alcohol in her system. She can't run without it. She can't run_ with _it, anymore, either. She's at a point where she can't function anymore at all._

_Suddenly, the smell of the bucket hits her, and before she can react, she throws up. It's not a lot. Mostly bile. Or stomach acid. She's not a doctor, how is she supposed to know? All she knows is that it's disgusting, it hurts, and everything feels like it's contracting. And it won't stop. She doesn't know if that's normal, obviously. Hasn't left her apartment, hasn't gone out to see any friends, let alone a doctor, in ages. She has no idea how long it's been._

_Doesn't even know when she's had her last meal. Drunk her last sip of water._

_Judging from the lack of take-out boxes and water bottles, it's been a while._

_She hopes someone out there occasionally checks up on her._

_Sighing, she takes her phone. Unlocks it. Her contact list is still on the screen. She's about to go back to her home screen and start playing a random game – to pass the time, waiting to get to that inevitable point where she has to drink to make the unbearable pain go away – when she catches sight of a name._

_Had she not scrolled back up in boredom, she wouldn't have come across it._ _Had she pressed the home button right away, she wouldn't have come across it._

_But she has. And the name she reads over and over again makes her stomach feel worse than throwing up. It makes tears want to leave her eyes. It makes her_ feel _something. A lot. Too much._

_It's too much to handle._

_She locks her phone immediately and grabs the bottle of vodka she's been delivered not too long ago. Takes a sip. Two. Three. Stops. Whispers, "I'm sorry," into the silence._

_Then – as if a sudden wave of clarity hits her – she unlocks her phone again and deliberately looks for messages that she's sent to that specific contact. Messages she's received from them._

_The newest one she finds has been received from them._

_It makes her stomach drop._

Don't say you miss me. You can't miss me. You don't know what that word means anymore. You wouldn't.

_Lauren looks up from her phone. Shocked. She knows exactly what the message means. And, God, right now, she couldn't agree more._

_She closes her eyes. Takes a breath._

_She opens her eyes. Breathes out._

_Bites her lip a little too hard. Tastes copper._

_She makes a decision. Calls– "Mom?"_

_Her voice is trembling, her fist – the one she doesn't hold her phone with – clenches and unclenches rhythmically throughout the conversation._

_At the end of it, both she and her mother are sobbing. Ugly crying. It's all spit and heavy tears._

_But it's worth it._

_A few minutes after it's over, she receives another phone call._

_"This is Dr. Hernandez. Your mother has called. An appointment has been scheduled for tomorrow."_

_Lauren is embarrassed. Because she_ cannot _go out. Isn't capable of it. Physically. But she knows that this person won't judge her, so she truthfully answers, "I can't get out of my apartment on my own." It's meant to sound confident. Like she knows she's ill. Like she_ wants _that appointment. Like she's happy she can get a treatment soon. Instead, it comes out messy and shy and quiet. Lauren buries her nails in her pale thigh. She always fucks up like this. She hates herself._

_God, it hurts, but it's not as bad as the pain she usually feels in her head after yet another night of drinking._

_Dr. Hernandez doesn't laugh. Their voice doesn't sound mocking in the slightest. "That's okay, Miss Jauregui. Don't worry about that. We'll figure something out."_

_The sentence lets her know that her life is about to change._

_She's not happy about it because she knows it's going to be hard, but deep down, something tells her it's going to pay off._

_One day._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT: if you haven't already, please read [this](/works/12051750)!!!! it's such an incredibly good fic!! thank you, this has been a PSA
> 
>    
> kudos motivate me. so do comments.


	5. (i need) a little bit more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 100 KUDOS I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS HOLY SHIT I LOVE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU ANFJEJCBNC
> 
> anyway, this one's for all you naughty people out there. i see you.

Naked.

Together.

That's what they are. That's what they _want_ to be. These are the only two things that matter right now. Nothing else. Literally _nothing_.

* * *

It started out as a normal Saturday night–

Both of them agreed to watch a movie. So they did exactly that. Cuddled on the couch. Ordered Chinese take-out. Ate it with spoons just to have a laugh. Occasionally made snarky comments when extraordinarily ridiculous scenes came on.

–and then, suddenly, it wasn't.

* * *

So– of course they've kissed before. They've kissed a lot. To make up for lost time, certainly, because after all, they hadn't seen each other in a very long time. But, see, the thing is-

That's _all_ they've done so far. They haven't yet taken their relationship to the next level. They haven't touched each other in _that_ way, haven't had _make out sessions_ , exactly, either. Because they don't think _just kissing_ is boring. Not anymore. No, they've matured, they've changed – yes, _Camila_ has changed, too, not just Lauren – and they believe that, being in this _new_ relationship with each other, they should wait. Savor every second they spend together, so to speak. Shouldn't jinx everything by immediately making it about sex–

Except right now, the take-out boxes are somewhere discarded on the floor, and Camila and Lauren are _definitely_ not _just kissing_ , and they're _definitely_ not _watching a movie_ anymore. Instead, they're _definitely_ making out – tongues and teeth and all – and they're most _definitely_ about to take this to the bedroom. In fact, they're already standing in the middle of the living room – TV still on, but not being paid attention to, at all–

"Wait," Lauren says breathlessly in the middle of a kiss, "Are you sure about this?"

Camila is amazed by how incredibly sweet Lauren is. How thoughtful, how loving she is. So, with reddened cheeks, she says, "Yes, I am. I think we _know_ by now this isn't just sex. Everything's different, remember? We don't need to abstain for a specific amount of time just to prove a point. Don't you think?" It comes out in a ramble. Because, yes, she loves Lauren's caring side, but as much as she does, she's turned on beyond belief, so when Lauren nods in response to her words, Camila's pupils turn a shade darker. "Good, because honestly? I don't think I can stop now. This feels so good. _You_ feel so good. I can't believe we've already waited this long," she sighs. Kisses Lauren. Takes her hand, and drags the girl to the bedroom.

Finally.

* * *

So– well, here they are.

Naked.

In the bedroom. With their clothes lying– well, let's just say _somewhere_.

It doesn't really matter, anyway, as Camila pushes her girlfriend in the direction of the bed. The fact that she feels bold enough to do that isn't really a wonder, seeing as she's initiated everything so far. She was the one to deepen their kisses, she was the one to take Lauren's shirt off, she was the one to– yeah, even back in the days, she initiated a lot when it came to sex. Some say she's always loved control. And, yeah, maybe that's one thing that hasn't changed.

(Her girlfriend is yet to complain.)

Moans are coming from both girls as Camila climbs on top of Lauren. They're still kissing; kissing is good, kissing is safe territory, while they're kissing, they can't really do anything wrong. 

As much as Camila loves – has always loved – taking the lead, she wants Lauren to have the chance to change her mind and communicate it at any time. And– there it I again: the change. Everything is so much slower, so much gentler. Because they know now that this isn't everything, this shouldn't be everything, this shouldn't be the only base for a relationship. It's become clear that things such as trust, faithfulness, _love_ are what matter more. And they're happy with the knowledge.

Camila feels Lauren's excitement, her wetness against her thigh as she deliberately grinds down into her. It's the only thing she can think of to move things along

Suddenly worried, she breaks the kiss. 

It takes a while for Lauren to catch up. To open her eyes, to close her mouth. For her breathing to slow down. Once this has happened, she says, "What's wrong, baby?"

Camila, still worried, starts smiling a sort of half smile. She loves being called baby. Caressing Lauren's cheek and enjoying how happy it makes the girl, she says, "Was that too fast?"

"No," comes the earnest reply, "it wasn't. You can go at a slower pace if you want to, but–" she blushes, "um– I don't really want you to. I mean, you totally can, you know. Uh– I don't want to pressure you into going faster, obviously, I'm just saying it would be okay if you did. That's what I mean. I'm just– Um. Really turned on. But I get it if you–" 

Camila has to stop herself from leaning down and kissing her. She wants Lauren to finish, though.

"I'm rambling, aren't I?" The girl bites her lip. Closes her eyes. Laughs an embarrassed laugh.

"Yeah, but it's cute." As much as Camila wants to wait, Lauren's biting her lip does things to her that she cannot possibly ignore any longer, and so she closes the distance between them and kisses Lauren as passionately as she can, trying to convey that, yes, she wants this, she wants _her_ , and, no, it's not too fast.

Their lips move against each other perfectly, but while they are usually content with _just that_ – right now, they aren't. No, tonight, they need more.

For the first time, they're about to make love. And the prospect of that– it makes them smile. Into this kiss they're sharing.

It's funny. How one second, they think about the pleasure they're about to make each other feel, and the next, it's all about how close they are now. And how thinking one doesn't make the other invalid. How it doesn't freak them out. Compared to so long ago. Their stomachs are touching, their legs are intertwined, and Camila's hair is cascading down onto the bed. Hiding their faces. And they're aware of it all.

It feels incredible. It's breathtaking. It's all they've imagined, all they've wanted, and so much more.

Camila stops kissing the girl underneath her for a minute just to look at her, and is met with a questioning gaze. So she simply says, "You're beautiful." Kisses Lauren's cheek lovingly. Adds, "You know that, right?"

Lauren blushes and bites her lip again. In a similar manner as before. "I like it when you compliment me like that," she says. 

Her tone of voice, the honesty make Camila's heart beat even faster than it already is. Lauren has this effect on her: whenever they're close, whenever she's near, Camila's heart– it goes crazy. It feels weird, but it's a good kind of weird. Because it makes everything so real, it makes them real, what they have, and–

"What are you thinking about?" Lauren asks while pulling a loose strand of silky brown hair behind her girlfriend's ear. Then she looks directly into her eyes.

Green meets brown. And all Camila can do is stare, and say, "This is real."

She gets an instant response. A huge smile. And, "Yes. Realer than it has ever been."

Right moment or not – suddenly, Camila shifts and once again becomes aware of just how turned on her girlfriend is– how turned on she herself is, and how Lauren can most definitely _feel_ that, too.

So she leans in and initiates another kiss. It lasts for a while. In fact, it lasts so long that, in the end, neither can tell when one starts and when another begins. But it doesn't matter.

No, it doesn't matter as Camila moves. So that she's not lying directly on top of Lauren anymore, but instead next to her. So that she can reach every single inch of her skin without having to deal with awkward angles. So that she can use one of the hands she's been holding herself up with to settle on Lauren's cheek, her weight now shifted onto the other arm.

While her mouth leaves Lauren's lips. It wanders to the girl's neck instead. She distantly remembers the girl loving having her neck kissed, and she guesses that can't have changed too much, so– it's her best shot, and it's a shot that leads her to scoring her first goal of the night: her kissing, _biting_ the flesh earns her a loud moan. It's music to her ears. Music that turns her on even more.

Goodness.

Camila can't help but straddle one of Lauren's thighs. She needs to get some relief, at least, and she's sure Lauren won't mind. This is confirmed when the girl lets out another moan at the combination of her neck being sucked on and her thigh being ridden. Camila bites down hard on her girlfriend's neck. Sucks on it. Probably leaves a dark purple mark in the end, but, again, she doesn't think Lauren will mind. After another second or so, her mouth leaves a sensitive neck and moves on downwards. Past Lauren's collarbone.

To her breasts.

Camila takes good care of them; while she's licking, sucking, biting Lauren's right nipple, her fingers slowly circle the other, pinch it occasionally; and then, when she feels she's done a good enough job – when Lauren rewards her actions with a string of moans – she repeats the procedure, this time with her mouth attached to the left nipple. 

That's what it takes for Lauren to lose it. She makes Camila stop immediately, signals her to kiss her again, instead, and while their lips are locked, she changes their positions.

Not having expected this, Camila groans. But– she doesn't try to get the upper hand again. She just lets go for now. Lets Lauren kiss her neck, bite it, leave a hickey. _Hickeys_. She can't even begin to express how much she enjoys this. All she does is moan. Whimper, even. again and again. And again.

And– God– suddenly Lauren's mouth has disappeared from her neck and– all she can think is how her breasts have always been incredibly sensitive but now– with her and Lauren having such an intimate connection, it's like they're even more sensitive. Her moans grow louder the more attention her nipples get, and her– she– "I need you," she rasps. It's almost inaudible. Her voice is thick with arousal.

But it's enough for Lauren. She hears. She stops what she's doing and instead kisses Camila's mouth again. With their lips locked in a heated embrace, Lauren can let her fingers wander down Camila's body without her immediately noticing.

"Oh, God." Lauren's index finger and her middle finger press into silky wetness. "Oh, _God_." She lets them rub circles onto Camila's clit. At first they're slow, but being met with so much approval from Camila, they're continually growing faster. The motions are greeted with various curse words, all moaned into Lauren's ear. Over and over again. It makes her grin. Spurs her on. She finally lets a single finger sink down into tight heat. 

Another moan, followed by a loud "Fuck," are the reward for it. 

Lauren doesn't wait for long, simply adds two more fingers with her next thrust. Because with how wet the girl is, she's sure the stretch won't hurt her. She starts moving them in and out of Camila slowly. A steady rhythm is everything. She knows this. She receives another moan soon, and it's so close to her face, and it's so – dare she say – filthy, that she can't resist the urge to straddle Camila's thigh any longer. She's getting wetter and wetter by the second, and she can't–

Camila has stopped her moaning, focusing on something more important.

Making Lauren come.

Her own being pleasured feels so, so, so good, better than it ever has, and she can't make Lauren wait any longer than she has. So she takes matters into her hands, and tries to find a good angle to _touch_ Lauren.

She succeeds. Moans at Lauren's arousal coating her hand; the older girl is basically dripping. She's felt it against her thigh for a second, yes, but like this – with her fingers opening the girl up, with her fingers sliding inside her – it's something else entirely. She wants this forever. To feel Lauren like this. Touch her. Be inside her.

They soon find a rhythm, a pace they can both hold up. 

The air is filled with the noise of moans, fingers thrusting in and out of clenching heat, the occasional open-mouthed kiss.

The sounds all but add to the girls' arousal, and soon – very soon – eyes are rolling back, walls are clamping down, juices are flowing, bodies are trembling, screams are echoing. Orgasms are shared. Achieved at the same time.

It's what making love is all about.

* * *

The first thing Camila does the following morning after she's woken up is check the other side of the bed for her girlfriend. But, like she expected–

No.

Correction.

Completely _unlike_ she expected, Lauren _isn't_ there.

But there's no reason to freak out. No. That would be totally irrational. Camila knows Lauren hasn't left. The Lauren who made love to her for the first time ever last night wouldn't simply leave in the middle of the night.

Right?

"Camz–"

–jumps up from the bed and runs to hug Lauren immediately. It's cliché, it's like a too kitschy scene from a horrible movie. It's exaggerated, maybe, but it's all she can think of doing.

It's a long hug. A tight one. One that Camila only ends after saying, "Don't scare me like that again." She pouts for emphasis and crosses her arms.

Lauren lets out a breathy chuckle. "Sorry."

"You better be." Camila is pulled into another hug. "Seriously, don't do that to me again."

"I won't."

And then– "Don't leave me."

" _I won't_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo guys by the way i have wattpad now too! if you ever wanna check me out, i'm schwanenkoenigin over there as well. i'm slowly gonna post everything i've published on ao3 already, so get ready for that i guess lol
> 
> kudos or comments are always appreciated!!


	6. ...without tomorrow too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last one. hope it doesn't disappoint too much. (in all honesty, it's a goddamn mess.)

"Marry me."

They are the words that make Camila think back to everything that's happened.

Not just in the past few months. She remembers everything. Since the beginning.

She thinks about the day she met the girl in front of her. The girl who has just proposed. Lauren Jauregui.

She thinks about how the two of them were barely freshmen in college when they did. Having the same classes. How there were thousands of people around them, yet they only saw each other. Call her crazy, but she knew back then that they were going to be something special. It took them years, yes, but here they are.

She thinks about the day they started their relationship. How they were clumsy messes, not being able to voice a single thought coherently. Everything was lip bites and blushes. It took them weeks of dating. Of hiding what they felt. Eventually, though, they _did_ somehow admit their feelings. It was weird, ridiculous, almost, the way they trembled and couldn't say one sentence without messing it up. It was weird – how neither of them really wanted to say anything in the first place, in fear their feelings, their desires weren't reciprocated.

At the time, Camila wasn't sure if _it_ , their relationship, was going to be anything to remember. Especially not _years_ later, but– here she is. And, quite honestly, she's loving the thought of still being able to tell what she went through with Lauren. And– not only _what_ she went through, no, _how_ she went through it, too. She remembers being a nervous wreck around Lauren at any given time. It makes her feel like _this_ – this _thing_ she shares with Lauren – is so much more, so much better than anything she could have ever even imagined.

She thinks about the day she knew something had changed. When she found Lauren on a park bench for the first time. High as shit. She was incredibly mad at her girlfriend because the girl hadn't talked to her, hadn't told her she smoked.

How she hadn't told her she only did it to feel less depressed.

Because, if Lauren _had_ told her, Camila could have understood. Would have.

She now feels embarrassed. For always yelling at Lauren for making those wrong choices. Always yelling at her for smoking, for starting to drink, for hanging with the wrong crowds. For sitting on a park bench, _high_ , without caring if anyone sat next to her; without caring if anyone did _more_ than just sit next to her. For getting mad at Lauren for _everything_ when she, herself, didn't understand, when she, herself, didn't ask, when she, herself, didn't _want_ to ask.

Yeah, she's mad at herself for only seeing what she wanted to see, for drawing conclusions she shouldn't have drawn.

She now realizes that it wasn't fair on her side, either. She always blamed Lauren for the end of their relationship. But now– she doesn't. Not anymore. Maybe, just maybe, if she _had_ asked, at least once, she could have supported Lauren. Again, she could have _understood_ her. But she didn't. And, as hard it is to admit to herself, she definitely didn't do everything right at the time.

So here she is. Realizing that, for a long time, she blamed Lauren. Lauren alone. She didn't stop for even one second to ask herself if maybe, just maybe, she was to blame, too.

And she's embarrassed. Just because she doesn't know what it's like to be an alcoholic – just because she didn't know what Lauren was going through at the time, because she didn't know what it meant to have an addiction you couldn't control – doesn't mean she had the right to– to do everything she did.

It makes her wonder if, maybe, she shouldn't say _yes_ right now. Because she finally realizes that she was, indeed, not any better than Lauren at the time.

But Lauren _must_ want this. Otherwise she wouldn't ask, right?

Camila's mind wanders to one of the nights in which she told Lauren that she didn't deserve her. That she deserved better.

In hindsight– maybe Lauren hadn't been trying _jump_ anyone's bones. Maybe Camila's accusation was wrong, too wrong to comprehend.

Camila's stomach contracts painfully. Maybe Lauren had to do what she did in order to get the necessary money for her– her alcohol, her drugs.

Camila swears that if she weren't in this exact situation, she'd probably puke. She had never _once_ considered the possibility that Lauren slept with people to get money. Her stomach _sinks_. Maybe her girlfriend was _raped_. Maybe her girlfriend was raped, and not just once; and maybe she was raped because Camila didn't once stop to wonder if, maybe, she, too made mistakes.

Camila feels self loathing creep up on her, and quickly makes herself think of something else.

The day that she told Lauren that her favorite color was yellow. Yeah, that's a good memory. Better than her last one by far: Lauren had asked her, laughing, why she always wore a specific outfit on The Sims, and Camila pouted at her unnecessary grin. Told her that she absolutely loved everything the color yellow had to offer. That she loved bananas, that she loved yellow roses. Although she'd never really _seen_ any in real life. She'd only ever fantasized about them. Because she loved roses. She loved yellow. So she kept thinking about if, one day, there would be _yellow roses_ , and the concept made her smile so much that Lauren had to pinch her to get her out of her reverie.

 _This_ , in particular, makes her realize that Lauren really _did_ love her. Enough to remember this oh, so specific thing about her.

That Lauren had always loved her. She hadn't pretended. Didn't sneak out in the middle of the night to _fuck_ someone. She tried her best not to be – financially – dependent on Camila.

Camila starts crying. Lauren had wanted to spare her the pain of knowing what exactly she's gotten herself into. Had wanted to use the money she gained from– from whatever she was doing– to maybe pay therapy. To get better.

For _her_.

Her crying is inevitable, and it's wet. Within seconds, her cheeks are stained.

Her crying– it's in realization of all the things she'd done wrong. She'd done _Lauren_ wrong. She hadn't listened to her girlfriend when she would have needed a friend. A lover. Someone to _listen_. Instead, she'd punished her. Saying she didn't need her. Saying she didn't want her.

Admittedly, she only said it because Lauren had said it first but– she now realizes that _that_ had only been the girl protecting herself. She imagines that Lauren was breaking down inside when she told her she didn't want her, miss her, love her anymore. Breaking into pieces.  Lying so that Camila wouldn't _judge_ her for being so addicted that she had to do all of _it_ in the first place.

Camila's crying intensifies, and before she can dry any of her tears, Lauren asks, "Are you okay? Tell me if this was too–" Her face– she's anxious, she's afraid she's done something wrong. "I don't want you to cry because of a stupid proposal. I didn't mean to–"

"Lauren," Camila interrupts her. She's still sobbing when she explains, "Don't." She strokes the older girl's cheek. "I was just– I was lost in thought. I was remembering all of what we've been through." She bites her lip. God, she'd screwed up so bad. Maybe if she admitted it, Lauren wouldn't want to marry _her_ anymore. "I'm so sorry for–" her own words are interrupted by a loud sob, "for _everything_. God, I was– I should have listened to you just _once_. If I had, maybe we could have– could have wor– worked something out."

Lauren understands. "No, Camila. I could have talked to you as well. But I didn't. I never, ever straight out said what was going on. If anything, we're both to blame. But– no– _no_. It's definitely not just you. Not just me. It was both of us. We weren't ready. Please, don't think for a second that everything was _you_ all these years ago. Not now. I want–"

Camila thinks about what Lauren's said. Could it have been _that_? That they weren't _ready_? That the universe wanted to try them, test them, make them love, and then lose each other as a sort of trial for later? The thought makes her frown. Could it be that– that, even if not back then, they were made for each other? She starts again, one or the other silent tear still running down her cheek, "Lauren, I–"

Her girlfriend interrupts her immediately. Lays a hand on her cheek. Dries as many tears as possible. Then– puts her thumb on Camila's lips, effectively sealing them.

No more words can escape.

"Camila Cabello, I asked you to marry me. And I didn't ask without intently having thought about our past. Because– believe me, I _have_. I realize, just like you have just now, that we both made mistakes. Not just me. Not just you. We both acted like idiots. None of us talked about the _real_ issues. Ever. We could have, but we didn't. We were young. Too young. And I asked you to marry me with all this knowledge in the back of my head. Knowing I've messed up, knowing you've messed up, too. And–" a shaky breath leaves Lauren's throat, "and I still want to marry you. After everything that's happened, it's still _you_ that I want to wake up next to. It's _you_ whose ear I want to whisper horribly stupid puns into in the middle of the night."

Camila can't help but chuckle at this.

"And," Lauren continues, " _Camila Cabello_ – it's _you_ who I want to spend the rest of my life with. Knowing what kind of past we have. Knowing how screwed up my – _our_ – past is. And I– I hope that–" Lauren's voice breaks. It takes a few seconds for her to compose herself again. She sniffs. Once, twice.

She inhales.

Exhales.

Then– "I hope that you want to spend the rest of my life with _me_ , as well. That's why – knowing how much we've been through together, knowing how much we've changed – I want you to tell me– will you be my wife?"

It takes a lot for Camila not to break down right now. Not to kiss Lauren. Not to hug her. Not to start crying again. Not to get lost in memories.

She can't believe how lucky she is. It's not the time to say it, exactly, but– she's forgiven the love of her life. And the love of her life forgives her, too.

She looks at Lauren with what she thinks – _knows_ – is the most loving expression on her face. Bites her lip. Realizes once again that this is _real_. That Lauren would never ask her for tonight without wanting tomorrow, too.

So Camila closes her eyes, and eventually says,

"Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who read this. especially those who left kudos and/or a comment. or two. or eight. (you know who you are.)
> 
> seriously, i never thought people would like this as much as they did. or seemed to.
> 
> i love you. have a good day/night, wherever you are.


End file.
